Porcelain
by Bitter Red Irony
Summary: They worshipped him because of what he seemed to promise... they called him Porcelain because of his pale skin and Mona Lisa smile." A muggle singer learns about the mysterious exotic dancer and the past and love he wants to forget. HPDM slash


_**Porcelain**_

He moved with an unnatural grace, the sway of his hips like the gentle movement of silk in the wind. His long hair, naturally as pale and golden as moonlight, flicked around him, a river of flowing light that flashed red and blue and purple under the hot stage lights. His delicate hands caressed his body, fine boned and seemingly so gentle, fragile even.

His eyes moved with the same ease and grace as his body around the room, cool grey with flashes of the brightest blue, which saw everything and looked at nothing.

His skin was pale glimmering ivory, stretched across his sinewy body. The heavy beat of the music seemed to flow through him, an extension of himself. The music so much a part of him, as his coral lips move imperceptibly with the words.

They worshiped him, grubby hands clawing for one second of his attention, one glance from cool eyes. They wanted him for everything he appeared to be, the embodiment of all their fantasies, the promise of an escape from the life they had found themselves in, loveless, passionless, the very edge of all they had been promised when they were younger.

They called him _Porcelain_ because of his perfect skin and Mona Lisa smile. They didn't seem to care that they perverted the very idea of a porcelain doll by naming him it. _They like the perversion, the breaking of innocence_ he would whisper as he brushed his hair in the dressing room mirror, clothed now in worn jeans and chest bare.

He was less perfected when the make up was removed, however minimally applied, it still covered the few scars that danced across his body. Somehow he seemed even more beautiful when those few imperfections were unmasked.

He danced undressed for the crowd of broken men, flash of grey eyes under his lashes, coy taunting smile and move of his hips. Smiling his thanks and blowing pointless kisses for the money dirty hands thrust at him.

After the club closes he has a glass of whiskey, frowning at the first sip each night, as though it lacked the fire he so desired. He sits at the bar and watches the other dances milling around, watches with haunted eyes as they talk of how they're going to be stars one day, models or dancers or actors. _Little boys with their big dreams_ he would murmur. Each night he then made his way home to his clean London flat and curl up alone in his bed.

They called him Porcelain because they worshipped him. He let them use it, because it was so very different to who he used to be.

**hpdmhodmhpdmhpdmhpdm**

The warmth of the club enveloped him as he was permitted through the heavy wooden doors. The smell of liquor, smoke and promise assaulted his nose as he removed his coat and scarf. In a few hours the deep red walls and luscious carpet would be softly lit and would guide the guests down the long corridor towards to main show room.

He had been working there for a week before they allowed him to take on the position of club singer, a sultry voice and a pretty smile. Now, three months later he was the headline act, his music and voice accompanied the most lucrative and beautiful dancer the club employed.

Clubs like this there different during the day, no crowd of well dressed men seeking to disappear, be unnoticed for a few hours while they succumb to their most primal of urges, no soft shadowed light where people can hide as they watch, no performer up on stage, taught to be more desirable and beautiful then any mere human, to hide behind masks of pretty smiles and glittering make up.

Soon the rooms would pulse with life and want. Sex had an almost tangible tension to it.

He made his way as he did every day to the dressing room, where he sat and watched _Porcelain _get ready.

"Really Lukas, your punctuality is astounding, surely you don't need to get to work an hour early every day." Porcelain's grey eyes flickered to meet his in the mirror, a teasing smirk on his lips. They had this conversation everyday and still Lukas hadn't thought up a lie that would convince the pale man before him, he was too proud to admit that he had no where else to go, no friends, no family, and his flat was cold and dirty. He suspected he knew already, taunted him for the fun of it.

"Of course not, but how could I possibly resist when I get to spend that extra time with you my dear?" He called himself Harry, a plain unremarkable name that didn't suit him at all. He said it sometimes with such mocking it was impossible to believe it could really be his name, but Lukas called him it anyway, better then a twisted stage name, a mockery of childhood innocence.

They went about their routine like every day, Harry getting ready and Lukas checking the equipment. The other performers arrive half an hour before opening, bringing with them a bustle of noise and laughter. Their gossip filled the changing rooms, _Mark had an audition next week, Charlie had a new girlfriend and he didn't know how to tell her what he did, Tony's landlord got arrested for dealing_. Harry would watch disinterested as he sips his coffee and Lukas ran around helping when needed and offering advice and congratulations if required.

Then the lights go down, the voices become a murmur, the guests arrive.

The boys do their shows, dance and gyrate and smile with white, white teeth. Lukas alternates singing with a couple of other performers and the crowd watches with hungry eyes and lurid smiles.

But then, at half past twelve, the lights flicker before shutting off, the music stops and the crowd goes silent.

Raw primal music starts playing as a single figure enters the blue tinged stage. He dances sensual and slow, moving with the music but also against it, eyes half closed and lips moving ever so slightly with the words that tumbled like velvet from Lukas' lips. He was unlike any of the other boys, they were the glitter and sugar, he was the darkest chocolate and rich, sensual fabrics. He looked at no one and everyone. His hands caressed himself and his body moved with grace and subtle tease. Pale skin seemed to glow and his hair flickered colours under the stage lights.

At the end of the night they sit in the dressing room as they do before work. Harry is quite as he goes about his rituals, and Lukas talks about this and that, watching as the human emerges from the character. _Porcelain_ disappears and _Harry_ returns.

A few months back, when Lukas had only been new to this world, he had sat perched as he was now, watching him change. "Why are you so popular?" he had asked, Harry had frozen, looking at him curiously in the mirror before smiling bitterly to himself.

"Because I turn straight men gay, I am the boy that lesbians want to touch; I am the one that every man wants." He paused, rubbing absently at a mark on his jeans. "I'm the doll that everybody wants to play with." They'd delved into silence before Lukas asked the next question that was bubbling up.

"So, why Porcelain?" This time Harry smirked,

"Because Plastic sounds too slutty, don't you think?" Lukas had laughed as he winked, going back to watching as Harry went about his routine.

"Where did you get them from?" Lukas speaks without meaning to, his eyes trailing the delicate scars on the body in front of him. Harry's eyes watch him in the mirror but he doesn't move or attempt to speak. Lukas finds himself at Harry's back, tracing the lines with the tip of his finger. He watches as Harry turns his face away from the mirror and closes his eyes as through against an unpleasant sight. He pulls his hand away, as if burnt, watching Harry's face in the mirror. After a moment of silence a rough voice breaks the tension.

"A war. So horrible and terrible you couldn't possibly imagine." That wasn't the first time he had revealed something of his past, always cryptic and strange. And as with each time before, Lukas nodded and changed topic, eyes a little more watchful, but otherwise no different.

**hpdmhodmhpdmhpdmhpdm**

_Mark didn't get the job, Charlie's girlfriend broke up with him. Tony had to find a new place to live after his landlord was charged with possession, dealing and trafficking. _

Things rarely change in places like this, the faces may, and the hair colours but there is a routine to life, and if someone leaves finding themselves a new life and job they're left to it, with a congratulations and promise that if things don't work out, there's a place for them here. The seasons change on the streets, but inside there is always the same smell of desire and money and promise.

In late autumn the delicate routine started to crumble. Harry and Lukas sat at the bar and shared a drink after the doors had closed on the last inebriated customer. The boys were getting ready to leave and there was the usual tired conversation and laughter when the front doors opened once more.

A slim brown haired woman entered, her hair framed her face in messy curls and her eyes betrayed her intellect as they surveyed the room with a hint of alarm in her gaze.

The room became silent as her eyes settled on Harry, who had grown tense at her entrance. Her gasp seemed to echo around the still room as she raised her hand to her mouth. A halted step towards the bar sent Harry from his seat. He shook his head furiously, before backing away slowly.

"No, wait!" the woman spoke, moving after the retreating figure. Harry continued to shake his head as he made his way quickly to the door. She followed silently, her gaze never drifting from the pale figure as she weaved around tables and chairs and people.

Lukas followed the pair to the dressing room, peering around the door at Harry, who stuffed his possessions into his bag hurriedly, muttering darkly to himself. The woman stood just inside the room. She watched him with a look of shock and confusion in her bright eyes.

"Malfoy…" He hissed as she addressed him, the woman flinched almost imperceptibly, before straightening up and swallowing.

"Draco, please, hear me out. I'm not here to harass you." _Draco? _Lukas mouthed the strange word that appeared to be his friends' name. In the room 'Draco_' _had turned around sharply, advancing on the woman.

"Hear you out? I've heard all you have to say, and I dare say Granger it sounds an awful lot like harassment to me." He spoke in little more then a hiss, his elegant voice seemed twisted and cruel and a snarl curled his lips.

"I'm not Granger anymore Draco, and I'm not here about all that. I was upset, _we all were_." 'Draco' let out a bark of laughter, going back to packing his things.

"Are you sure your husband would want you here? I mean, my presence alone would deem it _evil_ in his eyes. But even without me, this is hardly the place for a married woman." The woman's eyes flickered around the room again, distaste evident on her face. Lukas wanted to go in there, defend his friend and his workplace, but he decided Harry, or Draco or whoever he was wouldn't appreciate it.

"Look, Draco…" he cut her off and in a cool, detached voice.

"How did you find me?" Lukas almost smiled at how absently his friend changed topic, as he did all the time with Lukas. The woman straightened further, looking proud of herself.

"Kinglsey and I followed a couple of leads." Contrary to her boastfulness, 'Draco' laughed once more.

"_Kingsley?_"he sneered "Surely the Minister has more important things to concern himself with then where someone like me has ended up." The woman's jaw clenched which made Draco smirk.

"And what a place you have ended up. What would your father think?" her voice was cruel and the smirk dropped from Draco's mouth, he returned to packing his things with harsh, disjointed movements. The woman closed her eyes and clenched her fists before taking a deep breath in. "I didn't mean that. Look, Draco, we need to talk." Draco pushed past her, heading towards the door with his bag slung over his shoulder.

"Like I said, I believe you and your dear husband have done all the talking I wish to hear." The woman's voice cracked when she next spoke, it lacked the confidence she held previously.

"He's woken up." Draco froze and she continued speaking. "He's woken up, but its like he hasn't, he doesn't react to anything, he doesn't speak, he doesn't smile, nothing. It's like he doesn't recognize us anymore." Draco seemed to have collected himself.

"And what? You think I can change that? What was it your Hubby called me? _An evil whore who seduced him for the dark lord_? Surely, I would be the last person he'd want to see." Her voice was chocked with the tears she wouldn't let out when she replied.

"You were with him when he… when he did it. You were close to him, you saw it. And for some reason only Merlin knows he loved you." Draco slumped against the door frame.

"Why is it so unimaginable for you that Harry loved me?" she glanced around the room once more.

"Because its _you_ Malfoy. He deserves so much better." She sighed, before leaving the room, walking past Lukas and not seeing him, her stride was confident and purposeful. A moment of silence followed.

"You can come in now Lukas, the wicked witch is gone." He threw his bag on the dressing table.

"So what do I call you now? Porcelain? Harry? _Draco_?" his mouth felt clumsy around the foreign word, Draco sighed, sitting down and looking at the table top.

"I didn't keep it from you on purpose Lukas, I just… I didn't want to be him anymore." Lukas perched himself on his usual seat, watching his friend through the mirror.

"Who was that? And who's Harry?" resentment crept into the last question, and he wasn't sure if he was asking who the blonde in front of him was, or the mysterious lover from his past.

"She was the best friend to Harry." He snorted a laugh, knowing how circular this all sounded.

"And who is Harry?" this time he glance up, meeting Lukas' gaze in the mirror.

"A hero. He almost died saving the world." He paused, perhaps looking for some dispute to his claim. Questions whirled around Lukas' mind, a thousand and one concerning war and heroes and ministers and Dark Lords. "We went to school together, we _hated_ each other. I couldn't stand his do-gooder attitude, his shabby clothing or how bloody talented he was. He never really 'hated' me, just needed someone to fight, someone who didn't bow down to Saint Potter." He trailed off, loosing himself in his reflection.

"We didn't just, stop hating each other…it didn't just miraculously shift into _love_. It was such a hard time for everyone, who couldn't know who to trust, who was on your side. He found me, rescued me from my own side…" his words turn bitter towards the end, sneering at 'rescue'.

"He had all this responsibility, everyone was looking to him to make everything all better, and he had no clue what to do. I didn't know what to do either, who to believe, who to trust. It's hard to go against everything you were ever taught and to be betrayed to entirely by the people who are meant to love and protect you. That woman, she was his best friend, stuck by him through everything. And yet she didn't even notice he was breaking. _I did_."

They sat in silence for a while longer watching each other through the mirror, the bright light of the changing room harsh across his pale porcelain skin.

That night he left with his bag slung over his shoulder and a careless 'See you tomorrow.' They both knew they would never see each other again.

**hpdmhodmhpdmhpdmhpdm**

He had been the most beautiful person many of them would ever see, his pale skin was flawless under the stage lights, and his golden hair swirled around him as he danced, entrancing them all. They called him _Porcelain_ because it was like he was crafted from some master doll maker, his lips painted the perfect colour, and each hair arranged to frame his unfathomable grey eyes that peered out from lowered lashes to pierce your very soul with fire.

They worshipped him because he seemed to promise all that they wanted; he was broken like they were, but still so terribly beautiful. He was sex and sadness all rolled up in one perfect case.

When he disappeared there were whispered stories, rumors each more fantastical then the last. Each new boy who entered the deep red rooms heard stories about the most beautiful dancer, who seduced you with a look and enraptured you with his dance. They scoffed and said they could be better, but the more they heard about the mysterious _Porcelain, _the more he seemed like legend. His photo hung in the dressing room, a pale being framed by the shadows, he looked away to the distance as he moved to a beat that seemed to flow through him.

**A/N **Just a one shot I knocked up in two and a half hours (this explains any mistakes you may find) I'm not sure where this one popped up from, but I was inspired like a truck hit me. Please tell me what you think, its always so good to hear what people think. And who knows, I might even become inspired enough to get back to writing "Burning Paper Houses" I've been going through a bit of a rough patch recently, perhaps that explains the oneshots I seem to be firing off.

If anyone is interested, the song I imagined was playing when Draco dances is "Our Diabolikal Rapture" by HIM. check it out.

And it was very confusing writing Draco under the name Harry, hope that didn't confuse anyone.

So, drop me a line, tell me what you think.


End file.
